The world is a navy in an empty ocean.
Why poetry, you ask? Because of life, I answer.
All people are enslaved by something.
Some people complain there are too many people on earth, Some people complain about secret societies, Some people accuse others of not being able to wake up early. Almost all people complain about something.
Love is almost never simple.
There can be no forced inspiration.
He tries to find the exit from himself but there is no door.
Trying too hard to be too good, even when trying to be bad, is too good for the bad, too bad for the good.
I fly through memory to find a newborn love.
To dream on occasion is not dreaming, To love on occasion is not love.
Everything that looks too perfect is too perfect to be perfect.
We love the imperfect shapes in nature and in the works of art, look for an intentional error as a sign of the golden key and sincerity found in true mastery.
When all is lost, there is still a memory.
Oblivion cures the old wounds.
In trying to be perfect, He perfected the art of anonymity, Became imperceptible And arrived nowhere from nowhere.
Devil and God – two sides of the same face.
When within yourself you find the road, the right road will open.
From what you didn’t say, lies that you did say.
All dust is the same dust. Temporarily separated To go peacefully And enjoy the eternal nap.
Life eats life to live.